


Dark and Stormy

by lydiamartin (dwinchester)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, F/M, Gaslighting, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwinchester/pseuds/lydiamartin
Summary: Stiles is content to have a normal, routine life - until he finds a corpse.Noir AU.





	1. The Body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aj_hofacre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aj_hofacre/gifts).



Stiles set a glass down on the bar in front of him, then eyed the level of liquid in the bourbon bottle. His lips twitched in mild bemusement, and he set the glass back under the counter. It was late and there were only a few regular customers left. Nobody was going to rat him out for finishing off the last of the bottle. The liquor burned his throat on the way down, but it left him feeling warm, which was all he had wanted. It was late in September, so his walk home was going to be cold enough without the promise of rain that had been in the air all day. He tossed the empty bottle into the trash can behind him and glanced at his watch. “All right, I’m closing up.” He called out. “Go home and sleep it off. Come back tomorrow. My Jeep isn’t going to fix itself. I need the tips.” 

The other customers got up and pulled their coats and hats on, saying goodbye to Stiles as they exited. He dutifully put the chairs up on the tables and was on his way to get his broom and dustpan when he realized that one customer was still sitting at the bar, his head resting on his arms. Stiles sighed and crossed the room, shaking the man’s shoulder. “Hey, Harris.” He glanced toward the spray hose behind the counter, but shook his head at himself and tried again to wake his former science teacher. “Look, if you don’t vacate, I have to call the cops and then my dad’s going to come here and make life hell for both of us, so do me a freaking favor and get the hell up.” 

Adrian lifted his head, adjusted his glasses, and fumbled with his wallet to leave money on the counter for drinks he had actually already paid for, but clearly had forgotten about in his drunken state. 

“No, don’t.” Stiles protested, grimacing because the amount of hundreds he had caught a glimpse of made him salivate a little. “I mean, you already paid. Do you want me to call you a cab?” 

“I’ll find my own way home.” Adrian snarled, then looked contrite. He yanked a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and tossed it at Stiles. “For the trouble.” He muttered, putting his coat on and stumbling toward the door. 

Stiles had been working as a bartender for nearly a decade. When he started, he was green and thought he could somehow save the world, one alcoholic beverage at a time. He intervened in every drunken fistfight and became best friends with a few cab drivers. But he also had suffered from a few misaimed punches and an idiotic driver threatening to sue him because one drunken person had thrown up in the cab. Now, he knew his place was to serve drinks until someone probably passed out, like Harris had tonight. It was none of his business if they wanted to ruin their livers, he wasn’t a therapist or a magician. 

Stiles pocketed the money and swept the floor, then mopped it. He counted the money in the till, made the drop into the safe, turned off the lights and locked the doors. The last thing he did every night was toss the trash into the dumpster behind the bar, then go home. Tonight wasn’t much different, except raindrops soaked his face and had him using his damp sleeve to try to clear his blurred vision. When he moved his hand to lift the lid on the dumpster, he came face to fingernails with a hand resting on the rim of the bin. “You’d better either be a homeless, alive person who is avoiding the rain, or a realistic sex doll,” he told the dark red nail polish. “Because I don’t need you scaring off customers.” He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and lifted the lid up, using the light from the phone to try to figure out who or what had decided to make his night go from bad to worse. Long, blonde wavy hair was the first thing he noticed, and then he was slamming the lid on the dumpster, the trash bags beside him long forgotten as he called his dad. “I know the proper thing to do here is to call in an emergency and let someone else decide that the corpse currently chilling out over here is actually a corpse, but until some scientist can prove to me that people can still be alive when they’ve been cut in half, I think it’s a safe bet that I can skip the whole routine and tell you that I found a dead body in the trash behind the bar.” 

“What bar?” John Stilinski asked patiently, determined to stick to business practices, even though he really would have preferred to comfort his son. He knew that this sort of thing could be emotionally scarring to the average person. Stiles was not the average person, though, and professionalism was a better route, or John’s son would just get sidetracked. 

“What bar?” Stiles repeated, scoffing. “The bar I’ve been working at since I was twenty-one.” 

“This town has four bars.” John said calmly. “It could have been any of them.” 

“Fine, yeah.” Stiles muttered. “It’s The Silver Arrow. Now, if you’re recording me, you’ve got it on record, right? So I guess I’ll see you soon?” 

“I was just about to call it quits for the night.” John chuckled at his son’s swear-laden response. “I’ll send Parrish.” 

“The Boy Wonder.” Stiles remarked. “Fine, I’ll just sit here in the rain with Goldilocks instead of going home.” 

“At most, you’re answering a dozen questions and then getting a ride home.” John cajoled Stiles, taking the phone away from his ear and telling the deputy in question to go to the crime scene. He resumed talking to his son a moment later. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to be the one to find her, but I trust that you’ll cooperate with my deputies in locating who killed this woman. Or girl.” 

“You’re that certain she was murdered?” Stiles rubbed his eyes. He knew better than to even ask such a question, even without his dad having all of the details. It was really unlikely that, whoever she was under all of the blood staining her face and hair, she had climbed into the dumpster and then shot herself between the eyes. “Can we chalk that last thing up to me being exhausted?” 

“Exhausted or inebriated?” John asked brusquely. 

“Maybe a little of both.” Stiles admitted. “I’m going to have to call my boss and tell him that opening tomorrow is probably a bad idea.” 

“Let Parrish handle it.” John advised. “You’re not responsible for everyone, you know that?” 

Stiles knew his father's lecture so well, he could have recited it in his sleep. "I know. People are responsible for themselves, punishment is your department, I'm just a bartender."

"You're only 'just a bartender' because you chose not to do something else, kid." John remarked, his tone fond instead of reproachful. "It's not too late for you, either. You know, police training starts in January, if you're interested."

"Pass." Stiles said abruptly. "Everyone else in that program is going to be eighteen or nineteen. I'll be thirty before it starts. That's not really the time to make a career change."

"I'm just saying, there's paperwork on my desk to sponsor two people from this county, and the deadline isn't until December. Give it some more thought. I'll see you on Sunday. Love you."

Stiles echoed the sentiment and hung up his phone. He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them, even though it only gave him the feeling of washing them in the rain.

A few minutes passed before two police cruisers pulled into the lot, and Parrish called out to him from the closer one. "Why don't you get in, and we'll do the questioning at your place, after you've gotten warmed up?"

Stiles snorted, but he walked around the car and got into the passenger seat, sighing in relief at the heat coming from the vents. "Thanks." He glanced over at the deputy. "My dad's trying again to get me to sign up to work with you."

"Well, it's been about a year since the last time he tried to convince you." Jordan pointed out. "So he's right on schedule with that. Why exactly is it that you don't want to be a cop? Should I be offended?" He smiled.

"Too many rules." Stiles muttered. "Besides, firing a gun at a target is one thing. The thought of having to shoot a person gives me anxiety." He glanced out the window, watching as they passed one block after another, before coming to a one-story duplex. He eyed it critically as he got out, wondering what someone would think of the place if they didn't live there. The three steps on the left had a flowerpot on each one, with purple blossoms. The front door had a light brown welcome mat in front of it, with 'welcome' in black scripted font, and there was a wreath made of multi-colored autumn leaves hanging on the door. That door wasn't his. His was on the right, and the steps were bare. The small porch needed to be cleaned, as well as the shutters surrounding his front window. He had no welcome mat, no seasonal decor to greet the world. Suddenly, the lack of things felt more personal than his neighbor's additions to her own home. "You want coffee?" He glanced over his shoulder at the deputy.

"Sure, if you don't mind." Parrish followed Stiles up the steps and into the house. He flipped open his notebook and walked into the kitchen, taking a seat as Stiles made a pot of coffee. "Okay, let's start with the basics. Run through what your night was like."

Stiles did his best to dry off his face and arms with a dish towel. "I worked from four o'clock p.m. until two a.m. We've got this transition shift for part-timers. It's just a few hours a day, from four until eight. I was supposed to come in at six, but Isaac Lahey couldn't make it in at four, so I agreed to take a couple of extra hours. Transition shift does clean-up work in the hour and a half before most of the regulars show up, then there's restocking, washing dishes, any food prep that might need to be done. Mostly, that's just filling paper bowls with nachos or pretzels. Maybe, uh, slicing tomatoes for burgers. So that's how I started my shift. From four until six, I was either in the kitchen or the bathroom. Cleaning up in there." He filled two cups with coffee and set them on the table, then sat down across from Jordan. "At six, I started working behind the counter, getting drinks for everyone and making change in the register. I wasn't working by myself until eight, when Matt finished his extra two hours and clocked out. The bar closes at two, but I don't leave right away, because I like to sweep and mop before I go. Sometimes, I can do that before last call. Not tonight. It was probably around two-fifteen when I was taking the trash to the dumpster at the back of the parking lot. I had already locked up, and that's always the last thing I do, even though it's technically off the clock. It takes an extra minute, it's not a big deal to me." He squinted, thinking. "And now you're going to ask me if I saw anything suspicious. No, I didn't. The only difference tonight from any other night was that Harris had fallen asleep on the counter. He's a regular, but maybe once or twice a week, not every night like most of them. He teaches science at the high school. He taught me when I went there. We didn't get along very well, back then. Now, it's strictly business. He orders a drink, I make the drink, he pays..." Stiles trailed off, frowning.

"What's wrong?" Parrish set his coffee cup down and eyed his notes before he looked up at Stiles again. "Did you remember something strange?"

"Actually, yeah." Stiles nodded. "Harris had already paid for his drinks, and he's kind of tight with his money, never spends or tips more than he feels like. He's not a heavy drinker, either. Two drink minimum is the Arrow's rule, so he always has two drinks, leaves his fifteen percent, and goes home. Tonight though, he fell asleep like I used to, in his class." He snorted. "Arms on the counter, head on his arms. When I woke him up, it was probably around ten after, and he tried to pay me a second time. I stopped him because I'm actually not that much of an asshole, but he had a wallet full of hundred dollar bills. Over the years, I've learned more from him in the bar than I ever did in his class. Teachers don't earn that much money. I mean, maybe over time, if he saved up and pulled it out of his bank account? Kind of strange to go with a regular routine if he's planning on leaving town or something, though. And I'm not saying he committed murder, just that maybe he's going on vacation. But school's only been in session a few weeks, so that's a weird time to do that."

"I'll look into it." Parrish agreed. "Did you know the victim?"

"No, I don't think so. It was kind of hard to see who she was. I saw blonde hair and dark red fingernails, but her face was kind of obscured, you know? Anyway, I didn't look any more than that. And blonde hair doesn't mean anything, it could have been dyed. If you can't i.d. her from anything else, you could always check the drugstores and see who might've bought blonde dye recently." Stiles remarked. "It's not like anyone can keep a secret around here."

“Not for long, at least.” The deputy agreed. He finished his drink and flipped his notebook shut. “I’ll let you know if I have anything else I need to ask you.” 

“Yeah yeah, I know. ‘Don’t leave town,’ and everything.” Stiles smiled wearily. “I’d see you out, but it’s maybe twenty steps to the door and I’m wiped. You know where to find me.” 

“For what it’s worth, I hope we never have to talk about this again.” Parrish waved a hand at Stiles and left, closing the door behind him. 

Stiles finished his coffee and made sure his door was locked. He hesitated, then unlocked the door, opened it, and went down his steps and up his neighbor’s. He knocked sharply.

A dog barked, and the door opened. A redhead stared, unimpressed, at Stiles. “It’s three in the morning. What do you want?” 

“I just decided to introduce myself.” Stiles explained, feeling like he was somehow shrinking under her gaze. “I’m Stiles. I live next door.” He pointed at his own front door. 

“Yes, and you keep strange hours. Some of us have to be up in a few hours, to go to jobs of our own.” 

“Us? I thought you lived alone.” Stiles blinked, confused. 

“And I thought you were some sort of hermit.” The woman leaned in her doorway. “Say something interesting, or I’m closing this door.” 

“I found a corpse tonight.” Stiles blurted. 

The woman stood up straight, her bored demeanor changing to one of intrigue. “Where?” 

“Uh, I probably shouldn’t say?” Stiles muttered. “I’m sorry I bothered you. And woke you. I just thought... we’ve lived next door to each other for awhile and I’ve never even met you, and that felt weird to me, after what happened. So. I’m Stiles.” 

“Lydia.” The redhead held her hand out to him. “I was just waking up, anyway. I put off grading some papers in favor of watching a movie, and I need to finish taking care of that. With some luck, I’ll be able to finish and still have time for a little more rest.” 

Stiles could practically hear his father laughing at him as he spoke. “Do you want some help with that? It’s the least I could do, since I bothered you.” 

Lydia tilted her head. “Sure. Come on in. Prada, get out of the way.” She told the dog as she stepped away from her doorway. “Shoes off, I don’t want you to ruin my carpet.” 

Stiles untied and removed his shoes, leaving them near the door as he followed Lydia into her kitchen. He wondered why anyone bothered having multiple rooms for sitting down, since he spent most of his time at home in his kitchen, too. “Your place looks so much different from mine.” 

“How so?” Lydia set a brown leather bag on the table and opened it, removing a file folder and setting it down. She didn’t look up at him as she busied herself with copying the correct answers for the multiple choice questions on a blank piece of paper. “Go ahead, I’m listening.” 

“It’s cleaner, for one thing. My house is mostly just meant to be a roof over my head, or a place to take a shower. You have plates that match. I’ve got bowls that used to be butter and ice cream containers.” Stiles laughed. “I guess I just kind of gave up on anything normal.” 

Lydia set the answer sheet in front of Stiles, then handed him half of the papers she needed to grade. She reached back into her bag and set a red ink pen down for him to use. “Why?” 

Stiles wasn’t sure what made him want to talk to her so openly. It could have been the bourbon, the trauma of finding a dead body, or the late hour. “My mom died when I was a kid.” He remarked, picking up the pen and uncapping it. He started with the top page of the stack, marking a few answers as being incorrect and setting it aside. “It was just me and my dad, after that. I was seven when it happened. She had dementia. I guess I figure, you know, it’s genetic and I don’t want to risk, uh, ending up with a job where I might hurt people. Or a lifestyle where it’s possible. So no people in my life. And definitely no guns.” 

Lydia gave Stiles a questioning look. “What do guns have to do with anything?” 

“My dad is the Sheriff.” Stiles explained. He smiled when Lydia visibly relaxed. “Yeah, I know. I’m safe because what guy in his right mind would be dangerous, having grown up around cops? Not to scare you, but it’s more likely than you’d think. Anyway, he wants me to be a cop. I figure I’m better off never having access to a gun when I might snap and use it, like I didn’t know any better.” He went back to grading papers.

Lydia stayed silent as she finished her own stack of the homework. She sat back in her seat and looked up at him. “I’m no therapist, but I think that you’re just letting fear rule your life.” 

“Is that your professional opinion, as a teacher?” Stiles smiled. “Is there a standardized test that can tell me how to solve all of my problems?” 

“No, but you could start by buying some real plates.” Lydia smiled back. “And inviting me over, so that I can tell you how else to fix your interior and exterior decorating problems. If you didn’t keep such strange hours, I would have thought I was the only person living in this house.” 

“I’m a bartender. Working at night goes with the territory.” Stiles put the cap back on his pen and set it on the stack of graded papers. “Go back to sleep. I won’t bother you again. Sorry.” 

“I’m guessing that my lunch is around the time you eat breakfast?” Lydia stood up when Stiles did, and she walked toward the front door with him, waiting while he put his shoes back on. 

“What time do you eat lunch?” Stiles finished tying one shoe, then started on the other one. 

“Noon.” Lydia opened her front door, shivering a little at the cold breeze. 

“I don’t usually get up until two.” Stiles shrugged. “I guess I can make an exception just this once.” 

“Hmm. No.” Lydia shook her head. “Maybe I’ll just come to the bar tonight. Which one?” 

“The Silver Arrow.” 

“On second thought...” Lydia blurted, going pale. “I think maybe I’ll just see you whenever it is that I see you. Probably sometime after I get home and before you go to work.” 

“What’s wrong with-” Stiles began to protest, but Lydia cut him off. 

“Please leave. It’s late and I have about two hours before I really need to be awake and starting my day.” Her voice shook, and she pointed outside like he was a stray dog who had wandered into her house. 

Stiles held his hands up in mock surrender and went across the lawn, back into his house. Finally alone and too tired to care about anything but sleep, he stripped out of his wet clothes on the way to his bedroom, where he collapsed onto the bed.


	2. Doubt

Hours later, Stiles woke to the sound of his bedside telephone ringing. He lifted his head from his pillow and brought the phone to his ear. “Yo.”

“Son, you know that’s not any way to answer the phone. I tried your cell, but it’s dead. Did you forget to pay the bill? Are you broke?” John demanded. 

“I forgot to put it on the charger.” Stiles protested. “Did you seriously call me to interrogate me?” He sat up, running his fingers through his hair. He knew that his dad wouldn’t call unless it was important. They saw each other at least once a week, so phone calls weren’t necessary unless there was a problem. 

“Actually, I kind of did.” John cleared his throat. “Parrish checked in here with dispatch after he got to you, but we haven’t seen or heard from him since. His driveway’s soaked from top to bottom, so he never parked his car there last night. I hate having to ask, but do you know where he might’ve gone?”

“I told him to talk to Adrian Harris. Uh, Harris is carrying around a lot of money for someone on a teacher’s salary. If you need me to provide my whereabouts, I was talking to my neighbor right after Jordan drove away. I was there for about forty-five minutes. We didn’t talk much.” He grimaced. “I mean, I decided it was a great time to introduce myself and it was the middle of the night, so I was helping her grade papers. She’s a teacher.”

“Yeah, I can connect the dots.” John said dryly. “I appreciate this. I have one more favor to ask, but I’ll need to see you in person. Not at your house or mine, and not here at the station.”

Stiles’ mouth went dry. He didn’t like the sound of this, but his curiosity won out, like it always had. “Uh, there’s a path, out in the Preserve. It’s right off of the lot at the end of Beecher Road. Give me twenty minutes?”

“See you soon.” John hung up. 

Stiles got dressed in dry clothes, ignoring the wet ones scattered around the house as he went into the kitchen and downed what was left of his cup of coffee. It was cold and bitter, but it was enough to help him remember that his keys were in his wet jeans. He retrieved them and went outside, climbing into the Jeep. It was decades past its prime, but parting with it seemed to be too difficult. He murmured words of encouragement to the vehicle as he started it, driving out to meet his father, away from the public eye.

“Hey.” John greeted Stiles. “As much as I want to do all of this legally, there’s too much red tape. I’m actually glad right now that you’ve been ignoring me for the past twelve years about being a cop. I can’t get any information out of Harris or the Argents without a warrant, but you’ve got keys to the bar and you know what buttons to push with people. Get me whatever you can. I’ll find a way to get it cleared.”

“Are you gonna tell me who that woman was?” Stiles demanded. 

“Nope.” John patted Stiles’ shoulder. “Now get out of here.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and walked back to the parking lot. He drove home as he tried to think of what he was going to do. Something about Lydia’s house bothered him, but it wasn’t until he had spent a few minutes staring that he realized that her flowers were yellow. Confused, he walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

A woman with blonde hair answered, grinning at him. “Hi, Stiles! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” She hugged him, then grabbed his hand and stepped backward, into the house, as she pulled him along with her. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Stiles demanded. “You weren’t here this morning.”

“Nice.” The woman grinned. “You know that your pranks aren’t going to work on me. But fine. I’ll play along. I’m your best friend. Erica. I’ve lived next door to you since we were twenty-five. You’re the one who told me when this place opened up, and you helped me move in.”

“Uh, no?” Stiles protested. “This morning, Lydia was living here. She had purple flowers and a dog. I have no idea who you are.”

“Mm-hmm. And what time was this?” Erica folded her arms across her chest. 

“Around three o’clock this morning.” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, agitated. “I’m not crazy.”

“Nobody thinks you’re crazy.” Erica said gently. “But you’re not getting enough rest and you have those night terrors. You need to take your medication and get some rest. What are you even doing awake?”

“My dad called me.” Stiles said automatically. “I really don’t know you. Where did Lydia go? Stop trying to play games with me.”

“Honey, why don’t you let me help you?” Erica pleaded. “There is nobody we know named Lydia. I don’t want to call someone on your behalf, so let’s just find your pills.” 

“This is insane!” Stiles snapped. “Lydia! Red hair! She teaches middle school math... and I don’t even take pills!”

Erica stared mournfully at him. She sighed. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to unlock your door and we’re going into your house together. I’ll even walk ahead of you, if you want. We’ll go into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet, and I’ll show you the prescription pill bottle. If it’s not there, then I’m making it all up. I’ll go away and you can ignore me for the rest of our lives.”

Stiles wanted to tell her to go away, but his worst fear - that he would one day lose his mind - prevented him from dismissing her. He unlocked his door and gestured for her to go in. Without another word, they walked into the bathroom together and Erica opened the cabinet. There, on the top shelf, was a prescription bottle for Risperdal, the same medication that his mother had been prescribed when Stiles was young and believed the bottle was full of Rice Krispies. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he read the directions and took a pill, then went into the kitchen to leave himself a note about it. He plugged his phone into his charger before he could forget again and went looking for Erica. “Hey. I’m sorry. I don’t know how often this sort of thing happens, but I don’t remember you at all. How did we meet?”

“Middle school.” Erica smiled. “I had a crush on you and you were clueless. We had to work together for a science lab and I realized that you were kind of a dork. Way too into Batman. After that, we became besties and only lost touch during college. But then I said I was moving back and you offered to talk to the landlord and get me into this place.”

“But then... where did Lydia come from?” Stiles rubbed his eye. “Why would I make up an entire person?”

“I think you were dreaming.” Erica shrugged. “She’s a teacher and last night, Harris was at the bar. It’s his regular night, right? So, you know. Teacher, teacher. Lydia’s probably some sort of Poison Ivy stand-in, and you were feeling extra Batman from finding that corpse.”

“I didn’t tell you that.” Stiles scowled. 

“Small town, honey. Everybody knows.” Erica laughed. “Go to sleep. I’ll clean up around here and wake you up in time for work.”

Stiles didn’t feel like arguing. His dad’s earlier concern about Stiles’ cell phone payments made a lot more sense, in light of everything. He went into his room and stripped to his boxers, then laid down. The only thing still plaguing him was Lydia’s name. Everything else had a logical explanation, but he had never known or read about anyone named Lydia.

**

When Stiles woke up again, it was late in the afternoon. He trudged into the kitchen and saw a note in messy print, telling him that the bar was closed for the night. Reminding himself that he had promised his dad information, he got dressed and pocketed his keys. Clean laundry was folded and in a stack on his dresser, but he left it alone. His phone was fully charged, and he took it with him, walking to The Silver Arrow. 

The parking lot was almost completely empty, except for a black SUV and a Camry in the same color. Stiles bit his lip, wondering if he should risk going in and trying to sneak his way into the office, even though Chris Argent was obviously there. Usually, the owner left everything up to the bartenders, and Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the older man. After another moment of deliberation, he decided that his options were to try and fail, or not try at all and still find nothing for his dad. With that in mind, he went into the bar. 

Chris was sitting at a table, papers spread out in front of him. He looked up at Stiles, a relieved smile spreading across his face before he looked as though he had been stung by a bee, and then he went back to frowning. “Stiles, I’m glad you came in, but we’re closed for the night. In light of everything, I’m not so sure that this business can survive what happened last night, and I’m not really feeling up to dealing with this, on top of the funeral arrangements.” 

“I’m sorry, funeral arrangements?” Stiles stopped near the table, feeling too awkward about the past couple of days to assume it was all right for him to sit down. He was starting to wonder how many other things he had forgotten, and his mind kept wandering back to the purple flowers on his neighbor’s porch and her welcoming nature. It hadn’t felt like a dream at all, but he knew that his mother had issues like this, toward the end. He cleared his throat and told himself not to ask if the funeral they were planning was his. Some people liked to be prepared for eventualities. 

“Uh, yeah.” Chris muttered, shaking his head. “I probably shouldn’t discuss anything too in-depth, but my sister, Kate, was the one you found.” He exhaled shakily, stilling for a moment to try to prevent himself from crying. 

Stiles lifted his hand, his lips parting as he tried to think of something comforting to say or do. He respected Chris and had never had any problems with his boss, but they weren’t close enough to be like family, and he didn’t want to do anything to offend the man in a time of grief, when Chris might not be thinking clearly and could fire him. 

The kitchen door swung open, and Stiles looked up, coming face to face with a tall brunette. He knew he was staring at her as she approached, but all other thoughts had gone from his head. 

“Dad, you’re not selling this place.” The woman dragged a chair out from the table and sat down. “Besides, it was supposed to come to me on my birthday.” 

“I can’t have you sign papers in the lawyer’s office in San Francisco while you’re in Paris, can I?” Chris remarked. He turned his head to glance up at Stiles, fighting back a laugh at the way the bartender looked besotted. “Stiles, this is my daughter, Allison. Allison, Stiles is one of our bartenders. He’s worked here for the past nine years.” 

“Nearly ten.” Stiles added, wondering if that would count as a plus or minus, in Allison’s opinion. He suddenly wanted to know all of her opinions. 

“Let’s ask him.” Allison said sharply. “Stiles, would you prefer a new owner who wants to keep things mostly the same, or someone who would change everything and probably turn this place into a hipster bar, with stupid drink names and theme nights?” 

Stiles smiled crookedly. “I like things as they are. But if you don’t mind me saying so, a theme night once in awhile or a couple of new drinks might not hurt things. Most of our customers are, uh, grizzled. To put it politely. I wouldn’t want to see a dance floor here or strobe lights, like at Jungle. But Sour Grapes is that wine bar that caters to wealthier people, and as much as I don’t want to have to serve people who think I’m pond scum, knowing that they’re spending money here would be all right with me.” 

Allison nodded, giving Stiles a thoughtful smile. “What about The Barrel? What do you like about that place?” 

“I went there one time.” Stiles could feel Chris’ scrutiny and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his lips pressed together to force himself to shut up. 

“Dad, go away.” Allison commanded. “We’ll handle funeral plans in a few minutes. Get a glass of water and some fresh air.” When her father was gone, she used her foot to push out the chair across from her. “Sit down. He might not want to hear about our biggest competitor, but I do. If we can poach customers and keep them for ourselves, it’s going to take knowing what we’re up against, and it’s not like I would be welcome over there.” 

Stiles sat down. “It’s owned by Laura Hale. I guess she went to business school and bought the place with her inheritance. It used to be a lumber yard, or whatever you’d call a building where they cut and sell planks. I don’t think that ‘yard’ is the right word for it.” He shrugged, embarrassed when he realized he was rambling. “She kept the sawdust on the floor and serves all kinds of beer. She has some agreement going with Sour Grapes. They don’t serve beer, she doesn’t serve wine.”

“How do you know all of this from one visit?” Allison looked skeptical, but she smiled widely after a couple of seconds. “I think you’re my new favorite person.” 

“Yeah?” Stiles knew he sounded a little too hopeful, and he snorted at himself and shook his head. “Sorry. The last couple of days have been really strange.” 

“Right. Aunt Kate.” Allison murmured. “I already miss her. She wasn’t much older than me. We were like sisters for a long time. I know I should probably be crying, but maybe it just hasn’t hit me yet?” 

“It’s possible.” Stiles agreed. “I don’t think closing sends the right message. I can open for the night, call a few people and tell them to let everyone know that it’s business as usual, and you can see what a typical night is like?” He offered. 

Allison smiled again. “I’d like that.” 

Stiles felt like he would do anything to keep that smile on Allison’s face. Even while he felt sick to his stomach, wondering if this would be the night when he snapped and had to be carted off to Eichen House, he was sending text messages and making phone calls. Isaac claimed to still be sick, but Matt agreed to come in and work. Once that was taken care of, Stiles started taking chairs down from the tables. 

Allison caught on and started helping him, speaking as they worked. “I want to do everything as normally as possible.” She told Stiles. “The Silver Arrow is what I wanted to call the bar, and my dad opened it with the express purpose of giving it to me when I was old enough. Old enough was supposed to be twenty-two, but that was the plan when I was twelve. This place has always been my dream. Um, we moved around a lot, for awhile, and I ended up being held back a year. So while other people were finishing college at twenty-two, I was twenty-four.” She paused, gauging Stiles’ reaction before she continued to explain. “I took a year off, after high school. I spent that year traveling the world, and Paris was the place I loved the most. So after college, I decided to go back. It was just supposed to be for a couple of months, but that turned into six years. If you’re doing the math, I’m thirty. The last time my dad wanted to turn this place over to me, it was supposed to be a thirtieth birthday present.” 

“What made you stay so far from here, if this was your dream career?” Stiles set the last chair on the floor. “That seems counterproductive.” 

Allison laughed. “Fear of failure, if you can believe that. My parents got divorced when I was ten, and obviously, my dad was out of his element. Twelve year old girls are supposed to ask for ponies, not their own bar. It’s been running just fine without my help for eighteen years, and last night’s... mishap... shouldn’t be the thing that ruins it all. To be candid and a little morbid, I guess? The dumpster is the crime scene. The bar is a separate entity.” She paused. “Is entity the word I want?”

“It qualifies.” Stiles assured her. “Today is Tuesday, so you’re not going to get the Friday night crowd. It’s going to be quiet here tonight, and probably moreso, since people might be a little spooked by someone being shot.” 

“You’re the one that found her.” Allison blurted, looking pale. She gripped the edge of the table in front of her, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Stiles, I’m so sorry. I had heard that an employee found her this morning, but I didn’t put two and two together.” She stared at him imploringly. “Forgive me for being callous, okay? We’re not even supposed to start funeral plans yet, but we Argents love to compartmentalize. It’s easier to do the work and be emotionless about it, as much as we can. My father’s having trouble with that. Who knew he was so human?” She laughed at her own joke. 

“I never suspected him of being a robot.” Stiles teased. He wondered if he had said the wrong thing when Allison stopped and studied him, not bothering to hide that she was trying to figure him out. “Did I say something wrong?” 

“Not at all.” Allison grinned. “Come on, show me what else you usually do.” She reached for Stiles’ hand. 

Stiles clasped Allison’s hand and walked with her, explaining the opening and closing tasks. A few minutes later, they let go of one another and Stiles remembered that he was supposed to be looking for information. He figured it was enough that he had spoken to Allison and Chris, and he could relay that information to his father without needing to falsify any chain of command protocols. He was too entranced by Allison to want to go rummaging around in the office, anyway.


	3. Confusion/Confession

Around seven o’clock that night, Stiles found himself feeling a little jealous of Matt Daehler. His co-worker hovered around Allison while Stiles was busy getting drinks, cleaning the bathrooms, or copying documents for Chris during the slower moments of the night. With Isaac taking another day off, the plan had been to split the tasks that their part-timer saw to, but Stiles had been doing them all by himself while Matt flirted with the Arrow’s new owner. He felt a little guilty anyway, since he had made an extra copy or two while helping Chris; the papers were folded up and tucked away in his wallet. 

Allison nudged Stiles, speaking quietly to him while Matt took his break. “I don’t want you to think that I’ve been taken in by _somebody’s_ attempt to suck up to me. Try not to be too busy an hour from now. That’s when Isaac’s regular shift is over, right?” 

Stiles nodded, giving Allison a curious look. “What are you planning?” 

“You’ll see.” Allison grinned. “I also wanted to tell you that I appreciate everything you’ve done tonight. My dad’s having such a rough time. I mean, I am, too.” She stammered. “But staying busy has helped me. I think he’s just... different. Maybe I’m more like my mom than I thought. What else needs to be done?” 

“Pretzels and nachos.” Stiles suggested. “We try to keep trays filled, so that if someone orders any, we can just grab the tray and bring it right out.” 

“And whose idea was that?” Allison teased. “Because my dad says he only bothered dealing with food orders when somebody placed one. He was just doing this for me and he was in over his head. If this place wasn’t going to me, he probably would have given it to you.” 

“I wouldn’t have accepted it.” Stiles blurted. 

“Why is that?” Allison nodded in understanding when Stiles held up his index finger and walked away to tend to a few customers. 

“This place is great. I love working here.” Stiles said earnestly, when he returned. “But the competitors are a bit much, the regulars here are just getting older and we’re not getting any new regulars in, and the bar itself is on the smaller side. I wouldn’t be able to afford to do everything I would want to, to increase profit. For one thing, we need different lighting, and that is probably going to mean hiring an electrician to come in and do a preliminary assessment before we can even figure out if we can afford - uh, I didn’t mean we, exactly.” 

“No, you did. I like that you said it that way. I like that you’re here. Traumatic experiences in the workplace usually make people quit, right? But you didn’t. So, lighting and space. What else?” Allison grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the counter, but she glanced up at Stiles again, waiting for his answer. 

“A bigger kitchen, a more extensive menu, and a couple of cooks.” Stiles smiled hesitantly. “I’d actually suggest changing locations, but that would cost us regular customers. Everybody in here is a creature of habit. Including me.” 

“What about buying out a competitor?” Allison looked uncertain. “Are you familiar with our books?”

“I keep track a little.” Stiles shrugged. “Abigail would listen. She opened Sour Grapes as a sort of joke, after her divorce. She’s expressed more than a passing interest in your dad, so he might be able to convince her, provided he wants to run away to a different part of the world with her.”

“Nice, but more logic and less Julia Roberts fantasyland.” Allison commented, laughing. 

“Logically?” Stiles thought for a few seconds. “Her son doesn’t live around here, and offering her just enough money for a home in his city might do the trick. Work the family angle. You just lost your aunt, you want to live closer to your dad, and you don’t want her to have the same regrets that you do.”

“Cold.” Allison remarked, but she sounded more impressed than horrified. “I’m really glad I came here. It hasn’t been so easy, but I really think having you around will make it all worth it. I’m never this forward. I like you, though. And it might turn you off, but the fact that my dad likes you is kind of important to me, too. Let’s just say that he can be particular about who I date, and he’s usually right about guys who aren’t right for me.”

“What does he think of Matt?” Stiles grinned. 

“Well, my first official job as the new owner is to get rid of dead weight.” Allison licked her lips nervously as she glanced toward Matt. “Should I wait, or do it now?”

“It’s better to get it over with. But if you don’t want to, I can.” Stiles offered. “You’re dealing with enough.”

Allison smiled. “I appreciate that, but you’re dealing with plenty, yourself. I have to get used to all of the aspects of being in charge.” She walked away, sitting down across from Matt. 

Stiles decided it was the perfect time to go spot-sweep the floor. He doubted Allison would object, and he didn’t want to miss Matt’s reaction. He knew he was being a bit irrational, since he had just met Allison hours earlier. But she had said she felt the same way. He realized, belatedly, that he hadn’t told her how he felt. Frustrated, he dropped the broom and took a seat at the table. “Matt, you’re fired. Go clock out and don’t come back unless you’re buying a couple drinks. Allison, I like you, too. I should have said it instead of standing there like a dumbass.”

“It’s been a long day. I’ll let it go, just this once.” Allison laughed. “Bye, Matt.” She told the other man. “You should have done work instead of trying to kiss my ass.” She waited until he disappeared into the back before she leaned toward Stiles and kissed him softly. “I doubt that either of us can handle planning a date right now. Give me three weeks to get settled in and, um, mourn? After that, I’m all yours.”

“Then in that case, I’m going to take you on the best date of your life on...” He checked the calendar on his phone. “October eighth.” He looked up at her, smiling slyly. “Hey boss, can I have October eighth off?”

**

Even though Stiles had made a point of telling all of the regulars that they would be open for the night, the number of customers was smaller than usual, and the bar closed up around eleven o’clock that night. It wasn’t something that any of them wanted to do, but everyone else had cleared out and there wasn’t much else for them to do but accept defeat for the night. Instead of walking home, Stiles found himself walking the opposite direction, toward the police station. He waved a hand in greeting at a few deputies, then knocked on his dad’s office door. 

“Stiles, come in!” John called out. 

“How did you know it was me?” Stiles closed the door behind him and sat down across from his dad, smiling. 

“You have a distinctive walk and knock.” John remarked. “I always know when you’re the one coming over here to talk to me. You’re not at work. Did you get fired?” 

“Jesus christ.” Stiles blurted. “Have some faith in me once in awhile, all right? I didn’t get fired, but I did get you some information.” He leaned forward, getting his wallet out of his pocket and removing the folded papers from inside. He dropped the mess of them onto his father’s desk. “As of three-thirty today, Allison Argent is now the owner of The Silver Arrow. She said that the body I found was her aunt’s, so you don’t have to worry about hiding that particular piece of information from me, anymore. What you have there,” he gestured to the papers that his dad had picked up, “is information on the earnings for the first two quarters of this year. I’m going to run some numbers past you, and you might want to write these down. We have maybe thirty customers a night, and the two drink minimum means that any given night, we’re bringing in somewhere between three hundred and six hundred dollars. In a year, assuming that stays constant, you’re looking at a maximum of maybe like, forty-three thousand dollars in profit. Per year. The cost of running the place is astronomical. Now look at those papers.” 

John unfolded each sheet of paper, smoothing it out as he gave his son a pointed look. “Let’s get this straight, first. I do have faith in you. I think I did a damned good job raising you, and I’m proud of you, no matter what. That doesn’t mean I have much faith in other people, and there was always the risk that you would get caught.” He studied the papers in front of him, then whistled in astonishment at the numbers. “So the Arrow’s a front for something. What kind of something?” 

“Hell if I know.” Stiles frowned. “I don’t think Allison is involved, but she did ask me if I was familiar with the accounting books tonight. And the thing is, I like her already. I don’t think she’s some kind of mafia princess.” 

“Let’s just put this in order, for a second.” John said firmly. “In the past twenty-four hours, give or take, you found Kate Argent’s body in the dumpster behind Chris Argent’s bar. Parrish went missing and we still haven’t found him, and Chris just decided that today, in the middle of being investigated for two separate crimes, was the best time to turn over ownership of his bar to his daughter. And none of this strikes you as being suspicious? Have you lost your mind?” 

“Probably?” Stiles ventured. “But you know, maybe he did it? Maybe he knows he’s going to prison and decided that he wanted to leave Allison the bar before he got arrested. Isaac Lahey called off again tonight. Have you even tried talking to him? I think it’s definitely _something_ that he calls off one night and there’s a body in the dumpster, and then he calls off again. He only works four hours a night, and I really don’t think he’s sick. I’ve seen him come to work when he’s sick, at least. Something’s going on and it’s starting to piss me off.” 

“Isaac promised to come talk to us on Thursday.” John murmured. “He said he’s feeling under the weather. Do you have some sort of problem with Isaac that needs to be addressed?” 

“No, not anything serious. He looks like an actual cherub and he gets more tips than me, but I’m doing all right.” Stiles shrugged. “I’m just not feeling so great, myself.” He studied his dad for a moment, wondering if it would be all right to mention his dementia and how he was pretty sure his medication had either stopped working, or he needed a nurse to make sure he took it. “Um, but I think I’ll be fine in a few days. I’m sorry you haven’t found Parrish.” 

“Thanks.” John said awkwardly, making a noise of derision at himself. “That’s not exactly something I should thank you for, but you get the idea. Why don’t you head home and get some rest? You don’t need to get caught up in all of this, and it’s my fault, since I’ve kept you in it.” 

“I should definitely do that.” Stiles agreed. He stood up and walked around the desk, hugging his dad. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to drive me home, though? Since there’s some crazy person on the loose, kidnapping deputies and shooting blondes?” 

“I’ll drive you home if you buy me a cheeseburger at the drive-thru, on the way.” John was already getting up and putting his coat on. 

“What happened to ‘it’s my fault that you’re in this’?” Stiles laughed. “You literally just said that two seconds ago, and just because one of your favorite deputies is MIA, that doesn’t mean that you can go clogging your arteries to get into an early grave.” 

“I’m overlooking most of that.” John said dryly. “You know I don’t have any favorite deputies, but I’ll give you some points for saying that it would be an early grave.” 

“Can I use those points to refuse your alleged right to a cheeseburger?” Stiles smiled over his shoulder at his dad as he walked out of the man’s office and toward the front door of the station. 

“Not a chance.” John was reaching out to pull the door open when it swung inward, nearly hitting him. 

Chris Argent stood on the other side of the door, his hands shaking and his eyes red-rimmed. They darted from one Stilinski to the other, and he gave Stiles a sorrowful look before he turned back to John. “I’m here to confess to the murder of Kate Argent.” 

“Rain check on that burger?” John asked Stiles, not taking his eyes away from Chris.

“You got it.” Stiles muttered. “Chris, what-” 

“No.” John said sharply. “Stiles, you go home. Sorry I can’t offer you a ride. Why don’t you call that teacher you like so much, see if you can get a ride home that way?” 

“What teacher?” Chris blurted. 

“Um.” Stiles sighed, confused by Chris Argent’s outburst, but not wanting to deal with that right away. “Dad, there actually isn’t a teacher. It turns out that I quit taking my medication and I guess I sort of hallucinated Lydia? Or it was a really vivid dream. I’m still not sure.” 

“Wait.” John groaned, turning to keep an eye on both men. “I could really use some assistance out here!” He yelled to his deputies. 

Valerie Clark hurried through the bullpen, her gun drawn. “I’m here, Sheriff.” 

“Lower your weapon.” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was planning to take a break, but it’s going to have to wait. Clark, get Mr. Argent settled into one of our interrogation rooms while I have a talk with my son, would you?” He grabbed Stiles’ arm and started walking back toward his office, pulling his son along with him. He slammed his office door once they were both inside, then folded his arms across his chest and blocked it, so that Stiles couldn’t leave. “What medication are you talking about?” 

“The pills that Mom was on, for her dementia.” Stiles gulped, embarrassed to be having a discussion about it. “It’s hereditary and I have it too, so I’m supposed to take the medication she was on, to manage it. Is it even possible that I just never told you?” 

“No.” John said firmly. “Listen to me. You don’t have dementia. You aren’t on medication for it. You’ve never been on medication for it.”


	4. Killer Queen

“Then explain the prescription bottle of Risperdal in my medicine cabinet.” Stiles protested. “It’s got my name on it and the pills are identical to the ones that she used to take.” 

“From the moment you learned to talk, you’ve never kept anything from me.” John shook his head. “Even when I wished that you would. Some stuff had to be coaxed out of you, sure. But I see you at least once a week, since you got home from college. Don’t you think that I would notice if your behavior was anything like hers? You think I forgot what the symptoms are? I vowed to spend the rest of my life with your mother, just like she vowed to spend the rest of hers with me. She held up her end of the deal.” 

“I think her death sort of releases you from-” Stiles began, even though he knew it wasn’t the nicest way of saying his dad could move on, if he wanted to. 

John interrupted him, not any more ready to hear it than Stiles was to say it. “You don’t have dementia, kid. Somebody got you thinking you did, which I’m guessing wasn’t too hard. It’s always been a big fear of yours, hasn’t it?” 

Stiles nodded, needing a minute to clear his throat and the tears from his eyes before he could speak again. He sat down, leaning forward and raking his fingers through his hair before he sat up again and looked at his dad. “Okay. I had maybe three shots of bourbon, Monday night. Well, early on Tuesday morning, I guess. It was the last of the bottle, none of the customers give a shit, and it’s not like I do it every time or anything. Isaac had called off and I had to do my work and his, and Matt just clocks in and coasts - or he did, Allison fired him - and then I cleared the bar, took the trash out, found a corpse. Parrish drove me home and I was feeling...” He paused, trying to think of the right word for his emotional state after finding Kate’s body. 

“Lonely and scared. Normal things.” John finished for him. “So you went over to the other half of your house and knocked, wanting to talk to someone and your neighbor was the closest person you could bother for a few minutes.” 

“Yeah, I guess. And if she hadn’t wanted to answer, she wouldn’t have. It’s just, she had these flower pots and a welcome mat, and a wreath. I don’t have any of that. The mat says ‘welcome,’ she’s supposed to welcome people.” Stiles snorted. “And she did welcome me in. She had red hair and said her name was Lydia. She had a dog that she spoke to, telling it to get out of the way. She called it Prada. If I was making it all up, that’s a hell of a lot of details, and nothing I’d create in my head. But I went to sleep, and then I met with you. When I got home, the flowers weren’t purple. They were yellow. I went up and knocked again, and this blonde woman answered the door. She said her name was Erica and that she had been living next door to me for about four or five years, and that we were friends. She didn’t seem like she was making any of it up, and I went into the bathroom at my house before she followed me in, and the bottle was there. Just like she said it would be.” 

“Whoever she is, she’s built up one hell of a ruse. Give me a few seconds. Don’t think that me walking away from this door means you can run off.” 

“Got it.” Stiles took a deep breath. He felt like his brain was scrambled. He watched as his dad sat down at the desk and started looking up a few things on the computer. 

John smiled and motioned for Stiles to come around to the other side of the desk and look at the screen. “Lydia Martin. She resides at two-fifteen Sycamore Street, right next door to you at two-thirteen. She’s a teacher at Beacon Hills Middle School.” 

“Okay, so I didn’t make her up. Where did she go and where did the pills come from?” Stiles demanded. 

“I’m not a miracle worker, give me a few minutes.” John muttered. “I’m going to have Lydia brought in, along with this Erica, if that’s even her name. She’ll be harder to find, but I think Lydia might be able to shed some more light on what’s going on. I won’t be able to hold her here more than twenty-four hours, though. There isn’t anything I can charge her with. All she did, as far as we know right now, is let her friend borrow her place. If it was in an effort to mess with your head, we’ll get her for conspiracy of some sort.” 

Stiles sat back down in his chair. “I feel pretty stupid that I was so willing to believe I was having some kind of episode.” 

“Don’t.” John shook his head and looked up at Stiles. “You were there, you saw what your mom went through. She forgot things all the time and got details mixed up in her head. A person with dementia, who quit taking their pills and drank a little more than usual some night, might have a violent outburst. You know that. Even with the medication, it’s possible. If you were suffering from dementia, the outcome of meeting Lydia might have been different altogether. I need you to go home right now and get me that bottle of pills, so I can have the lab test it. Maybe we can get some fingerprints. In the meantime, I’ve got to talk to your former boss about the fact that he killed his own sister.” 

“I’ll bring you back a cheeseburger.” Stiles smiled grimly. 

“You’re damned right, you will.” John nodded. 

**

Stiles had returned to the station in his Jeep, dropping off the pill bottle and the promised food for his dad. He hadn’t stayed after that, since he didn’t know how he felt about his secondary father figure being arrested by his actual dad. He went home and double-locked his door, since he had realized that Erica or Lydia, or some third party he was unaware of, had broken into his house and planted the bottle in his cabinet. He had the day off, but he knew he was going to end up going in anyway, since he wanted to see Allison. 

After he woke up and showered, he eyed the clock and grabbed his keys, rushing back out to his Jeep. He drove to the police station, but didn’t get out. Lydia’s car wasn’t in the lot, so Stiles drove to the middle school. The parking spot beside his neighbor’s car was open, and he smirked at the convenience as he parked there and walked into the building. It had been more than a decade since he had been a student there, but nothing had really changed. He found Lydia’s classroom easily, though he had no real plan for how to confront her. He just let impulse guide him to open the door and start talking. “You know, breaking and entering is still a crime.”

Lydia’s hand stilled, but she went back to writing on the whiteboard. “So is trespassing, and if you had come into the office, someone would have paged me or come looking for me.”

“Why, so you could disappear again and make me think I was insane? Pass.” Stiles snapped. “You owe me some answers, but you can give them to my dad, instead. At the station.”

Lydia paled. “You reported me?”

“I didn’t have to.” Stiles shook his head. “I mentioned my episode of memory loss to my dad, and he told me that I was letting fear make me susceptible to bullshit. You want to save your own ass? Go over there right now and talk.”

“You don’t understand what’s going on. You’re just caught in the middle of it. And I can’t explain half of it.” Lydia set the marker down and turned to face Stiles. “Nothing that’s been done to you was out of malice.”

“Someone broke into my house and planted a prescription bottle with my name on it. But that’s not malicious?” Stiles rolled his eyes when Lydia seemed startled. “Save it for court.” He turned his head when the problem on the board caught his eye, then reached out to grab Lydia’s arm. “What is this?” He used his free hand to gesture to the board. 

“It’s the problem I make my students do at the start of class.” Lydia looked up at Stiles. “Why?”

Stiles eyed the drawing of California and the dotted line that led to Paris, broken up only by an airplane. He licked his lips, tightening his grasp on Lydia’s wrist as he spoke. “How long have you known Allison Argent?”

“You’re hurting me.” Lydia struggled in an effort to get Stiles to let go of her.

“And if I had checked myself into Eichen House, that wouldn’t have hurt me?” Stiles glared. “Answer me!”

“She was my best friend!” Lydia cried out, rubbing her wrist when Stiles released his hold on it. “Her family is dangerous, Stiles. I stayed away from her on purpose, and I think she did the same for me. But Beacon Hills is my home and I always knew I would be back here eventually, even with the Argents and Hales at war with one another. I’ve done my best to stay away from both families. When I found out that you were working for Chris Argent, I panicked. You can’t begin to understand, and I can’t explain. I told you. I went to a neutral party. Someone who knows you and just wants to keep you out of danger.”

“Erica.” Stiles muttered. 

“Not Erica.” Lydia shook her head. “Stiles, please walk away from this. Stay away from Allison and her father. Don’t go near the Hales. You could work for Danny Mahealani, at Jungle. You would probably even earn more over there.”

“Why should I trust you?” Stiles sat down on Lydia’s desk, ignoring her strangled noise of protest. “You, Erica and Chris. You’re all liars.”

“I’m sorry.” Lydia whispered. “I only wanted to keep you safe. You seemed kind. You offered to help me when you didn’t have to. I thought you might be working for the Argents in another capacity, but Sc- Erica said that was impossible.”

“Scerica?” Stiles repeated, wavering between annoyed and amused by Lydia’s slip of the tongue. “Who is Sc- oh. Scott McCall? I didn’t know he was here. Why didn’t he contact me?”

“He has his reasons.” Lydia grabbed her coat from her chair and put it on. “I’ll go with you, and I’ll talk to your father. I know you’re going to follow me if I drive myself. You should just drive me there and save us both some trouble.”

Something was still nagging at Stiles as he walked to the office with Lydia while she explained that she had to go, then he accompanied her to the parking lot. “That problem on the board. How long is a flight from Paris to San Francisco?”

“Anywhere from twelve hours to fifteen hours, approximately.” Lydia murmured. “Why?”

Stiles didn’t answer as he got into the Jeep and started it. His mind was on the past couple of days. Kate Argent hadn’t been identified immediately, and autopsies took time. Families were notified afterward, if they weren’t already aware that a loved one was deceased. Even if Allison had been told immediately and somehow got onto a flight back to California in a matter of minutes, she still wouldn’t have been in Beacon Hills by the time Stiles returned to the bar. “She did it!” He blurted. He glanced at Lydia. “Allison killed her aunt. Chris confessed, but I don’t think he’s behind this.”

“Quit your job.” Lydia muttered. 

“Not happening.” Stiles shook his head and drove out of the lot. The police station wasn’t far, and he took the few minutes’ drive to reflect on the fact that he was falling for a murderer and living next door to a sadistic math teacher.

“Everything I say in there is going to sound like I’m the one actually suffering from dementia.” Lydia cautioned. “I guess I can’t ask you to go away and not listen in?”

“This involves me, one way or another. Actually, probably a few ways.” Stiles parked and got out, surprising himself by walking around to the other side, to help the diminutive redhead out of the Jeep. 

Inside the building, John gave his son a wary look, then greeted Lydia. “Miss Martin, I’m assuming? My son can’t leave things alone.”

“Despite my best efforts.” Lydia agreed, nodding. “Sheriff, I have a few things to say to you. This might take some time.”

“That’s what they elected me for,” John smiled politely. He pointed toward a door at the other end of the room. “This way.”

Stiles didn’t bother waiting as he went into the adjoining room, watching through the two-way mirror. 

John shook his head at his son, even though he could only see his own reflection. He sat down at the table. “Have a seat, Lydia. Let’s start with the breaking and entering.”

“I didn’t do that.” Lydia sat down. She glanced warily at the mirror, sighing. “Is it against the law to have him just come in here? You can still record the whole thing, if you need to. I doubt you’ll press charges against me when you understand.” She spoke to John and Stiles, waving a hand at the mirror. 

John leaned back, considering the situation before he gave the mirror a nod. 

The door opened, and Stiles dragged a chair away from the table, sitting in a corner of the room. 

“Allison Argent was my best friend in high school.” Lydia started twisting a lock of hair around her finger nervously. “Her dad owned one of the two bars in town. Back then, at least. He wasn’t around much, but Allison’s Aunt Kate was. She seemed to take joy in giving Allison the sort of compliments that were actually insults. Allison knew what they were, but she didn’t have many constants in her life. Until Beacon Hills, her dad moved around frequently.”

“That’s Allison.” Stiles interrupted. “We’re here to talk about what you did.”

“I promise to get to that.” Lydia replied, exasperated. “We attended Devenford Preparatory School. Kate made fun of Allison for it. Allison made it a goal to find something she could use against her aunt, turn the tables on her just once. She wasn’t successful. After high school, I went to MIT. I stopped talking to Allison because I learned that running a bar wasn’t the only thing the Argents did. I’m not a fan of dangerous weapons-“

“Is there another kind?” Stiles snorted. 

“Shut up, Stiles,” John shook his head and hid his smile. 

“The Argents sell guns. Some legally, some not.” Lydia put her hands down on the table. “I wanted a good career, and I thought that by associating with someone whose family used the black market, I would only jeopardize my own future. I got a doctorate in applied mathematics and a teaching degree, then moved back. I wanted a home that wasn’t in range of the Hales or the Argents. That only left a few choices, and none of them were for sale, only for rent. The duplex was the nicest in my price range. I didn’t know Stiles before college, or when I moved in. I only knew that he left around the time I got home, and he came home when I was starting my day. It’s been fine during the week. Less so on weekends, when his headlights and loud motor wake me. But that’s not why any of this happened. I’m sorry, I’m incredibly nervous. I’ve never had to do this before.”

“Make it easier on her.” Stiles looked at his dad. “Ask her how she knows Erica.”

“Son, I know how to do my job.” John sighed. “How do you know Erica?”

“I don’t.” Lydia shook her head. “When I learned that my neighbor was working for the Argents, I assumed the worst and went to the neutral werewolf pack for advice.”

Stiles sat up, staring. “The what?”

“Neutral werewolf pack.” Lydia repeated calmly. “Scott McCall is the alpha and he had already asked me to consider joining his pack when I moved back here. I declined and started keeping wolfsbane on my porch, to tell them to stay away. After Stiles told me where he was employed, I packed my suitcase and took the plants off of the porch as a way to tell Scott that I needed his help. He came over and brought Erica with him. Scott said he knew Stiles and didn’t believe that Stiles was capable of hunting werewolves. That’s the other way the Argents keep themselves from going broke. It’s why Laura and her brother hate the Argents. They’re werewolves, too. I still didn’t feel safe, so Scott said he would take care of everything. I agreed, reluctantly, to join his pack and accept his help. I’m staying in a hotel. I don’t know more than that, except that Stiles showed up and accused me of breaking and entering.”

“Werewolves.” John repeated. “Are you a werewolf?”

Lydia shook her head. “I’m a banshee. I sense death. I don’t cause it. That’s a common misconception. I had a horrible feeling on Monday night and could barely sleep. Around three am... on Tuesday morning, I gave up and made some coffee. That’s when Stiles introduced himself.”

“Were the Risperdal pills yours?” John asked gently. 

“Risperdal?” Lydia looked confused. 

“Pills for dementia. Don’t play dumb now. You mentioned dementia before we came here.” Stiles frowned. 

“I don’t know much about Scott’s idea of taking care of things.” Lydia told Stiles. “He just said something about scaring you with your mother’s illness and I asked what it was, so he told me. I thought if it would scare you into admitting yourself to a facility, at least the Argents would be away from you. And with luck, they would fire you for your potential mental health... concerns.” She gave him a contrite smile. “It was a horrible plan.”

John ran a hand over his face. “Jesus. I need you to submit to a psych consult.” He told Lydia. “And schedule one for myself, because for some reason, I believe you.” He eyed the recorder, then stopped it. “Do you know other werewolves?”

“Just Scott, Erica, Derek and Laura.” Lydia said softly. “Why do you ask?”

“Isaac Lahey.” Stiles answered for his dad. “He works with me, but he’s been calling off the last couple of days. It’s a full moon, isn’t it? And it’s over on Thursday?”

Lydia nodded. She moved slowly, reaching for her purse. “I keep track on my planner.” She opened it to ‘September 2024’ to show the Stilinskis. “I like to drink once in awhile, at either Sour Grapes or Jungle, depending on my mood. I don’t go out if the moon is full. Werewolves go to The Barrel and hunters spend time at Silver Arrow, but I don’t want to be in the middle of a drunken fight to the death. And with my abilities, I know it’s coming. Even so, I avoid that possibility at all costs.”

“We can’t use this.” Stiles frowned. “She was right. Even if we presented it as some crazy person pulling a B and E and planting pills in my bathroom, the judge would just be locking a werewolf up for at least ninety days, without her pack. That’s three full moons where Erica might lose control and kill someone.”

“You seem well-versed in lycanthropy.” Lydia commented. 

“I majored in folklore.” Stiles smiled wryly. 

“Well, you’re not wrong in your theory. Scott and Erica went too far, but you can’t put them in any sort of holding cell.” Lydia agreed. 

“What about Parrish?” John interjected. “He’s a deputy. Jordan Parrish.”

“My dad’s favorite deputy.” Stiles smirked. 

“I don’t have a favorite deputy.” John protested. “He was at your duplex, but he’s gone missing since. Is he dead?”

“I’d have to...” Lydia shook her head. “How familiar are you with information on someone like me?” She asked Stiles. 

“Banshees are tied to families in Ireland. That’s where the legends originate from.” Stiles murmured. “They wail for the dying.”

“It’s somewhat more complex than that. All I am able to tell you is that this deputy isn’t dead, and death isn’t impending for him. If he was part of the McCall pack, whether he is human, werewolf, or something else? I’m one of them now. I would be able to find him. The fact that I can’t means that he’s part of another pack. You really should talk to Scott and Erica.”

“And we need to talk about Chris Argent.” Stiles added. 

“No, we don’t.” John gave Lydia an assessing look, then continued. “His confession was false. There were details about his sister’s autopsy that he got wrong, so we threatened to charge him with obstruction and told him to go home. I already asked Allison Argent to turn over her passport until after we talk to Adrian Harris and Isaac Lahey. She complied.”

Stiles was silent as he watched Lydia, determined not to think about his certainty that Allison was a murderer. “I guess I understand why you did what you did. From here on out, talk to me before you pledge your loyalty to a band of thugs.” He snorted. 

“Scott’s pretty far from being a thug!” Lydia laughed. “I don’t know about Erica. How are you so okay with this, both of you? I thought I’d lose my job by even suggesting it.”

“Years back, there was a car accident.” John cleared his throat. “The only survivor at the scene was bleeding out. She told me to leave her and go to my wife, that my wife was going to die that night. I ignored her because I thought she was delirious. My son was by himself in the hospital for a good hour while I finished up paperwork and ignored my phone. I learned to accept that some things are beyond explanation.”

“I didn’t know that.” Stiles murmured. “I decided on folklore because I felt undecided about where my life was going, after sophomore year of high school. There was this psychic at a summer festival, and she told me that she saw me surrounded by dragons. I didn’t think of folklore, though. I thought it meant I was supposed to get a job delivering Chinese food.” He laughed. “And then I had a mythology elective, and Ms. Blake told me that I should keep studying. I thought she meant that I was failing. It turned out that my grade was the highest, in all of her classes. So from then on, all of my papers related to mythology of one kind or another. It was harder to justify in Econ.”

“What about the dragons?” Lydia looked intrigued. 

“I have no idea.” Stiles admitted. “I think it was possibly bullshit. But I’ve known other people who experienced something like this. Near death experiences and seeing ghosts, or thinking of someone just before they call. There’s more unexplained than explained.”

“Why don’t you two get out of here?” John suggested. He knew better than to try to influence his son on anything, but he already preferred the idea of Stiles dating Lydia, as opposed to Allison Argent. John was nearly certain that the bar owner was responsible for the murder of Kate Argent. He only needed for her to confess. 

“I’ll drive you back to your car.” Stiles opened the interrogation room door for Lydia.

“You disrupted my work day.” Lydia smiled. “You owe me a bottle of wine and Italian dinner.”

“That’s date food.” Stiles snorted. “And I never asked you.”

“Save yourself the trouble, it’s a firm no.” Lydia replied. “Besides, I think I have to confirm Scott’s approval before I get involved with anyone.”

“Scott is sounding less and less like a person I want to know.” Stiles muttered. “Do you also need permission to wipe?”

Lydia opened the main door of the station for Stiles. “That’s repulsive. Obviously not. I actually appreciate that alphas have concerns about any potential pack members.”

“Scott’s second in command is Erica.” Stiles pointed out. “He doesn’t have the best judgment. You’re either going to end up with a bedwetter or the human equivalent of Ned Flanders.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re looking to date Allison, despite the fact that you’re certain she’s a killer. Scott wouldn’t welcome you and he definitely won’t approve of her. She’s a hunter and a liability. A threat.” She followed him to the Jeep and got in. 

“I just want to hear what she has to say for herself.” Stiles shrugged. He drove back toward the middle school. “And I’m serious, I don’t want to belong to a werewolf pack. Especially not one where the leader thinks it’s a solid plan to gaslight me into taking medication that could have made me sick. I’m actually surprised that it didn’t.”

“He really did mean well.” Lydia sighed. 

“Oh, okay?!” Stiles laughed derisively. “Sure. ‘I don’t want to hurt my former best friend, I just want to make him think he’s gone insane and needs to take anti-psychotics that might make him psychotic. What he really needs is to go get an indefinite stay at the looney bin. That’ll keep him safe.’ Fuck, if anyone has lost their mind...”

“Okay.” Lydia frowned at him. “Or this: you go out with Allison and find proof that she killed her aunt. You decide to ask her about it, and she panics and shoots you.”

Stiles rested his forearms on the steering wheel as he looked at Lydia. “Your former best friend and my former best friend are mortal enemies. You don’t trust her and I don’t trust him. You realize this qualifies us to become superheroes?”

“Hmm. No. I hate spandex.” Lydia laughed. “What are we going to do about this? I don’t want Scott and Erica to be arrested, and you don’t want that for Allison. But they’re all guilty of something.”

“Allegedly.” Stiles shrugged. “For all we know, Allison didn’t kill Kate.”

“You sat right there and told me that Allison got back before Kate was murdered.” Lydia protested. 

“Circumstantial.” Stiles countered. 

“Not to be crass, but you can’t just decide that putting your dick in crazy doesn’t count if you verbally declare her sane.” Lydia shook her head. “I wasn’t kidding about dinner and wine. We need to keep talking about this.” She opened the door of the Jeep, but turned toward him instead of getting out. “I’ll go buy the wine. I know what I want. You pick up some manicotti for me and garlic bread. I’ll see you at home. My home. I have real plates. Besides, I have to get Prada from my mother’s house and check out of the hotel.”

“Fine. Get out.” Stiles snorted. 

Lydia got out of the Jeep and shut the door, then walked over to her car.

Stiles waited until his neighbor was in her car before he drove off. He placed the order at the Italian restaurant near the mall, then went into a department store while he waited. He wandered through the dining room section, looking for plates.

“Stiles!” 

Stiles nearly dropped the plate in his hand when he looked up and saw Allison. And then his mouth was opening and he was speaking before he could stop himself. “Did you kill your aunt?” 

Allison looked around warily, then looked back at Stiles. “Yes.”


	5. Reunion

“What the holy hell happened to you?” Lydia demanded, her hands on her hips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you died.”

“Yeah, sorry. I guess I owe you two dinners.” Stiles muttered. “I forgot to pick up the order. I went to buy myself plates, and Allison was there. I guess she was doing the same thing, since she’s sticking around. Or planning to. I opened my mouth and words came out, and... she admitted to killing Kate. I stole a plate. I was holding it and she said ‘yes,’ as in yes, she killed her aunt, and I just turned around and walked out. I’ve been driving around for the past two hours because I think I have to quit my job and possibly move to Alaska.”

“I think you’d better come in.” Lydia frowned. 

Stiles trudged into Lydia’s house, taking off his shoes without thinking about it. He sat on her couch, staring off into space until she forced him to take a glass of wine. He downed it all at once and set the empty glass aside. “Tell me what she was like, when you knew her.” He pleaded. “Tell me she was a cruel bitch who would have looked right through me and ignored me for the rest of our lives.”

“No, that was me.” Lydia admitted, sitting beside Stiles. She reached up to ruffle his hair. “Don’t get the wrong idea here.” She grabbed a pillow and set it on her thighs, then tugged him down to rest his head there. 

Stiles looked up at Lydia. “I can see straight up your nose.”

“Good.” Lydia shrugged one shoulder. “That’s the least sexy thing, ever. This isn’t romantic. Do you even see me like that?” 

“Not even a little.” Stiles smiled crookedly, but it didn’t last very long. “Sucks for me. Objectively, you’re hot and if I was a different sort of guy, I’d have tried to talk my way into bed with you. But I want more than sex, and there’s this something missing here.” He gestured between them. “I want to order pizza with you and argue about reality show contestants. I want - wanted to have a dozen dates with Allison and buy her favorite toothpaste and I definitely wanted to see her naked. But she’s a murderer. She is going to prison. Unless I want to resign myself to conjugal visits for the next forty plus years, I can’t have her. It was probably too much, too soon, anyway. I just thought - I’ve never come face to face with anyone and somehow just _knew_ like that, that she was mine. Lyds, do you think that every life experience is supposed to teach us something? Because I don’t have the first fucking clue what this is for. I’m going to be thirty in less than four months and I’m single, and that didn’t matter until I saw Allison.”

Lydia ran her fingers through Stiles’ hair a few times, thinking. “I think some things are meant to teach us. I don’t have an epiphany every time I stub my toe or put on mascara. But today has definitely taught me that I had the good fortune to move next door to my new best friend. You were so pissed off at me earlier, but you still treated me with respect.” She thought about high school and Allison back then. “You know, I used to call her Snow White. She had that big smile and long, dark hair. She was sort of socially inept when I met her, too. She loved history and gym class. I hated both of those things. Regardless of how, she did just lose her aunt and she is facing a lot of years in prison. She needs people.”

“Yeah. Us.” Stiles agreed. 

“I was thinking probably just you.” Lydia corrected. 

“No. Us.” Stiles sat up and tried to fix his hair. “If you don’t want her coming here, we’ll go over to my house and I’ll invite her over there. But you can tell me if she’s going to kill me, and you can prevent me from doing something stupid, like asking her to marry me. I mean, I couldn’t testify against her, if she did.”

“Shut up, you’ve known her less than a week.” Lydia pointed out. “At least start with one date and make sure she’s got good manners.”

“You never had a meal with her?” Stiles made a face at Lydia. 

“Yes, but a lot can change in eleven years. I haven’t even seen her since high school graduation. She might be fat. I don’t know what the hell you’re into.” 

Stiles laughed. “Believe me, she’s not going to be mistaken for a whale anytime soon.” He sat up. “Aren’t you the least bit curious what she’s like now?” 

“Maybe a little.” Lydia admitted. “But if I have to deal with Allison and the awkward silence that comes from not having spoken to each other in more than a decade, you have to deal with the same thing from Scott.” 

Stiles bit his lip, but he nodded. “I’m going to need another glass of wine.” He muttered, getting up and picking up his glass. 

“So am I.” Lydia pointed to her own glass. “More than halfway, if you don’t mind?” She called Scott while Stiles refilled their glasses. “Scott, I’ve spent about half the day with Stiles and he’s agreed to talk to you.” She gave Stiles’ address to Scott, sticking her tongue out when Stiles flipped her off. “Just come by as soon as you can.” She said goodbye and hung up, then picked up her glass and took a sip. “Your turn. Call Allison.” 

“Why do I get the feeling that telling her that you suddenly want to talk to her is going to have the opposite effect?” Stiles murmured as he waited for Allison to answer. 

“Because it is.” Lydia turned her attention to her wine. 

“Allison, I’m sorry about earlier. I feel like I keep having to say that.” Stiles began. “I guess I was sort of hoping that the answer to my question would have been no, but only that one, because I have another one for you. I’m going to stop rambling now and just ask you to come over.” He smiled widely a few seconds later and told her his address, then hung up after a few more seconds. He put his phone back into his pocket and looked at Lydia. “I need help finding a shirt.” 

“Lame.” Lydia muttered. “Newsflash? She’s every bit as interested in seeing you naked as you are in seeing her naked. I know that without having spoken to her in years because you’re exactly her type. Lots of other things can change about a person, but the qualities they look for in a romantic partner don’t. They might alter slightly, but that’s about it. Just go shirtless, for all anyone cares.” 

“I think Scott might care.” Stiles muttered. 

Lydia sat back and looked up at Stiles. She snorted. “No, I’ve seen him shirtless. He’s not going to be the least bit threatened by you.” 

“This is a bad idea.” Stiles grinned. “We’re going to die.” 

Lydia stood up and grabbed Stiles’ hand, leading outside and across the front yard, to his doorway. She waited while he unlocked the door. “I’ve never been in here. Am I going to be attacked by bats or something equally frightening?” 

“Yeah, watch out for the floor. It’s lava.” Stiles retorted, pushing the door open and going inside. 

Lydia followed him in, looking around. “You live like a bachelor.” 

“I am a bachelor.”

“Yes, but you live like you expect to never have anyone visit you in your lifetime. You need better lighting and real plates, and furniture that didn’t come from a yard sale.” 

“The person I’m falling for is possibly going to prison, Lydia. I don’t care what my house looks like. And in twenty-five to forty, she won’t care, either.” Stiles sighed shakily. “I don’t know how to deal with this. The jokes are just making it worse. I can’t even say this in front of her. I know that.” 

“Maybe you should.” Lydia suggested. “Don’t be so blatant about it, but start off with a small joke. Maybe the conjugal visit thing or marrying her to avoid having to testify. If she seems angry, just tell her that you’re not sure what to do because it’s not like this is a situation covered by Emily Post, for fuck’s sake.” 

“Do ‘Emily Post’ and ‘for fuck’s sake’ even belong in the same sentence?” Stiles teased. 

“They do when we’re talking about someone committing murder.” Lydia sat on the couch and looked around the room again. “Is the wall between our homes a load-bearing wall?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles started straightening up his dvds.

“Damn it.” Lydia pouted. “Well, I guess it’s for the best. I like having my own space, anyway. I just hope the two of them don’t arrive at the same time. I can’t imagine that going well.” 

“Worse?” Stiles sighed. “She decides she likes his abs and his everything else and they leave here and go have a dozen conjugal babies.” 

“That’s not going to happen.” Lydia shook her head. “You haven’t seen Scott around me. Believe me, he’s not going to look twice at Allison. Unless she looks like a whale. He likes animals. He’s a veterinarian.” 

“I wish I had your self-confidence.” Stiles muttered. He sat down beside her. “Do you like him?” 

“I don’t know.” Lydia pressed her lips together, smiling faintly. “He seems sweet, but also horribly misguided, given what he decided to do to you. I don’t think he’s really for me. You know how you described that moment when you saw Allison and it was like you knew she was perfect for you, and that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her? I didn’t have that with Scott. He’s going to have to do a lot to make up for what he did to you, because I had no idea what his objective was or how he was going to handle achieving it. I’ve had people mess with my mind, before. Not to the extent that yours was, and not as quickly. I don’t mean to offend you, but that fear of yours must have been powerful to convince you so easily that you had dementia.” 

“Well, my mom had it.” Stiles murmured. “Once, she walked right out of her room in the hospital and climbed up to the roof of the building, and she was standing on the edge. My dad convinced her to climb down. I was about six, and - she started screaming at me, then to him, saying I was trying to kill her. She started hitting me and I couldn’t do anything. Wouldn’t do anything, I guess? I mean, even in the worst moments of that, it wasn’t her fault, and I never would have hit her, anyway. It’s just that, uh, I started getting obsessed, from that moment, with the odds of things. Genetics and how likely traits and disorders are, the likelihood of a raccoon getting into your trash can, whatever else I wanted to look up. But mostly, the genetics stuff. I practically begged my dad to schedule me for an MRI before high school, because I hadn’t hit the big growth spurt that all the research I’d done said I was supposed to have, and I convinced myself that I had a problem with my pituitary gland. Spoiler alert, I’m okay. But it’s a fear that I’ve never been able to shake, and when Erica told me that the flowers had always been yellow, I wasn’t even all that scared? I guess I just thought ‘this is it, I knew it would get me one day.’ What about you, though? Who tried to get to you?” 

“Not tried. Did get to me.” Lydia started playing with her hair again. “I believed, for a long time, that nobody would like me if they knew how intelligent I am. I played dumb all day at school, even though I was determined to get Valedictorian. So I was still doing my work and making sure my answers were correct, I just kept my conversations more on the airhead side of things. I don’t think it was any one particular person who pushed that agenda. It was everyone. Little things that added up, I suppose. ‘Boys don’t like girls who make them feel stupid,’ or ‘you’re supposed to pretend you don’t know how to do that, so that your date can teach you. Then he can put his arms around you.’ And I thought that was all I was good for, after awhile. Now, I’d rather know that I’m intelligent and encourage my students to be intelligent instead of playing dumb, and if I decide I want to have sex once in awhile and not have to worry about dating, that’s okay. I wouldn’t mind a nice date, but I don’t really have time for that. Red used to be my lipstick, now it’s my ink pen. It’s an okay trade.” 

Stiles turned his tv on and glanced at Lydia. “I wasn’t kidding about the reality show thing, and it’s going to be at least a few more minutes before either of them show up.” 

“Fine.” Lydia shrugged. “But we’re watching Bar Rescue.” 

“What’s that? I was thinking The Bachelor or Big Brother.” Stiles started searching for the series Lydia had insisted on. 

“It’s better, that’s what it is.” Lydia muttered. “You have horrible taste in tv shows and decor, and probably women. So if Allison isn’t destined for ‘My Six Hundred Pound Life,’ what’s wrong with her?” 

“You’re pushing this a little too hard.” Stiles commented, glancing at Lydia. 

“I know, and I’ll feel guilty about it later. For now, she’s not here and I’m just trying to make sure that you don’t focus too much on her actual problem.” Lydia admitted. “Besides, I spend my days around twelve year olds. You’re lucky I’m not calling you a shithead and trying to trip you. Apparently, that’s how they make friends these days.” 

“So nothing has changed, then?” Stiles laughed. “I don’t know what to do. I think I have a habit of getting involved and trying to fix broken people. My dad says it’s a problem, I mean. I’m not - I don’t think she’s broken, I guess, I just-” 

“She murdered her relative. She’s broken. That’s the one.” Lydia nodded toward the tv. 

Stiles started an episode and found himself engrossed in the show. When there was a knock on the door, about halfway into the episode, he paused it and glanced at Lydia. They both stood up. 

“Which one do you think it is?” Lydia whispered, reaching up to touch her hair. 

“It’s Scott.” Stiles said firmly. “It’s not Allison. There’s this whole thing about the pattern that everyone has, when they walk... never mind.” He opened the door, smiling hesitantly at his childhood best friend. “Uh, hey.” 

Scott grinned back at Stiles and hugged him. “Hey!” 

“Oh, okay, we’re doing this, then.” Stiles patted Scott’s back and stepped back when the werewolf finally let go of him. “So, you want to come in? I mean, kind of weird if you came over here and didn’t, right?” 

“Stiles, go get yourself a glass of water.” Lydia commanded. She greeted Scott as Stiles went into his kitchen, then started to close the door. 

“Hey!” Allison called out. “Hold on, I’m coming right in.” 

Lydia pulled the door open again. 

“Hey!” Allison repeated. “Lydia, what are you doing here? I mean, I guess it’s okay that you’re here. Or I guess that I shouldn’t guess? I didn’t think this was a party. Stiles called me.” 

“I know.” Lydia nodded. “Why don’t you come in and sit down? I have wine next door, or there’s whatever Stiles actually has in his kitchen. Which is probably nothing.” 

“Heard that!” Stiles called out from the kitchen. 

“Allison, do you know Scott?” Lydia closed the front door and turned back toward the brunette. “It’s strange that we all grew up in this town and our paths never crossed, back then.” 

“It’s more likely that they did, and we just didn’t notice.” Stiles started setting cans of soda down on the coffee table. “I don’t know what you guys want, and it’s from a variety pack, so just pick something. I should probably go to the store, at some point.” He looked embarrassed. 

“Um.” Allison looked from one person to the next. She sat down and grabbed a can, opening it carefully away from her. “No, I don’t know Scott.” She said finally. “I’m a little confused.” 

“That makes two of us.” Scott looked up at Lydia. “I thought this was something - I thought that some group thing was happening.” He blushed. “Not anything like, you know. Not that. The other thing.” 

“All right.” Lydia said sharply. “This is all incredibly awkward, as expected. I’m going to order pizza, since that’s the closest I’m getting to Italian food tonight, and we’re going to sit here and watch Bar Rescue, and nobody is allowed to leave this house until we’re comfortable.” 

“That could take awhile.” Stiles held a hand out to Allison. “Can I talk to you in the other room?” 

“Definitely, yes.” Allison grabbed Stiles’ hand and followed him into the bedroom. She laughed softly at the sight of his bed, then quickly looked away from it. 

“I panicked.” Stiles began. “I’ve grown up around cops. I wouldn’t have cared if it was shoplifting or something stupid, you know? But this is kind of enormous. And I’m not even terrified of you. I’m terrified of losing you. It’s probably a little or a lot fucked up, that I’m already thinking of engagement rings. It’s possible that I have dementia, though I have it on good authority that I actually don’t. These last few days have been kind of insane. I don’t want our first date to be us, separated by the bars of your jail cell. Just tell me what to do. Tell me how I can help, so I can keep you around?” 

“Can you reverse time and talk me out of making bad decisions?” Allison asked softly. She wrapped one arm around her waist. Her face crumpled as she started to cry. “I’m scared, too! I didn’t even think, I just - “ She let Stiles guide her to sit on the bed, wiping her eyes and turning toward him. “Even though I wasn’t officially the owner of the bar, I liked to look at the quarterly reports, or monthly updates, sometimes. I started noticing discrepancies in the numbers, and I realized that they all coincided with my Aunt Kate being here in town. I looked for patterns there, too. She would go to a different country, then spend a couple of weeks with my grandfather, then she’d come visit my dad. So I started tracking her. I figured out when she would be out here again, and I flew from Paris to confront her. I thought my dad was in on it, but... I wanted to talk to her, first. She’s - she was like my sister, and I thought I could get through to her. But I didn’t confront her. I gave her a necklace that I had fitted with a microphone, and I listened as she met with a man. I don’t know who he was, but it was the parking lot of the bar. I had my weapon. I don’t know why. I wasn’t planning to kill her, or anything. I heard her talking about how she was going to set The Barrel on fire and finish what she had started. She gave the guy money and I was angry. She was planning to kill people, right there in the parking lot of my bar. She’d been murdering people and taking their money, wearing their jewelry like it was her own. She was gloating about it. I - I aimed and shot her with one of my arrows. The man ran off, and I let him.” 

Stiles rubbed Allison’s back. “You don’t have to keep talking about this, if you don’t want to.” 

“I feel like I need to.” Allison sighed. “I’m so sorry that you found her. I left her there for my dad to find. I still thought he was involved and I was trying to scare him. I did, just not the way I intended. And he figured out that I did it, and would’ve taken the fall for me. How could I have ever thought he would be that cruel, like her?” 

“Because you weren’t thinking clearly. If anyone gets that, it’s me.” Stiles put his arms around Allison. “That guy out there, Scott? He used to be my best friend, and we stopped talking. Not because either of us wanted to, I don’t think? I mean, I didn’t. But it happened. I didn’t even know he was here, in town. Long story short, he used one of my biggest fears against me and made me think I was crazy. Lydia says it was to protect me, in a strange way. I want to believe that, but I don’t know if I can forgive him.” 

“But you can forgive me?” Allison pulled away slightly to look at Stiles. “How bad was it? What he did to you, I mean?” 

“Well...” Stiles explained about the flowers being a different color and the pill bottle with his name on it. “In light of everything, I don’t know that I can press charges against them. It’s really screwed up, but they were trying to do the right thing for me, keeping me away from dangerous hunters.” 

Allison’s lips parted and she stared at Stiles. “So you know.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. 

“I know, and I don’t care.” Stiles shook his head. “You did what you did because she was trying to kill more people. She had already killed so many. If it wasn’t for the fact that you used an arrow, I’d have an idea of how we could get you out of this. But you just have to make my life difficult.”

“If I do end up in prison, you’d wait for me? Really?” Allison looked surprised. 

“I still think there’s got to be a way to keep you out of it.” Stiles tilted his head back, thinking. “I just don’t know what that is.” 

The door opened and Scott peered in at the couple. “I think I have an idea. Ow! Oh, right. Sorry for barging in.”

Lydia pushed past Scott. “He was eavesdropping and I made him tell me everything.” 

Allison smiled weakly. “So if I become friends with you again,” she nodded to Lydia, “and date you,” she told Stiles, “then I’m stuck dealing with him?” She pointed at Scott.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Stiles snorted. “I think we should at least listen. But I get to veto anything that sounds stupid.” 

“If I remember correctly, that was the basis of our friendship.” Scott smiled fondly at Stiles. “Okay, so first of all, the pills weren’t Risperdal. They were calcium tablets. Erica’s a pharmacist and she printed up the label.” 

“I don’t really want to talk about it, anymore.” Stiles shook his head. “What’s your idea for how to save Allison?”


	6. The Plan

On Sunday night, Stiles pushed four tables together, in a row. He and Chris arranged chairs around them, and the older man gave Stiles a wary smile. “You think this will really work?”

“It took four of us to put it together. It won’t fail.” Stiles said confidently. He knelt to tape a few devices around the table, so that their conversation would be picked up by the recorder in the office. 

“I hope you’re right.” Chris muttered, walking away.

Stiles stood and turned, nearly bumping into Allison. “Hey!” He wrapped his arms around her. 

“I need you to hold my hand all through dinner.” Allison blurted. “I’m nervous and scared. What if this doesn’t work?”

“It’ll work.” Stiles smiled. “You and your dad need to relax, but I’m not holding his hand.”

Allison laughed, then sighed. “I was up all day, thinking I should just turn myself in.”

“If you think you could be happy, or at least absolved? I’ll back you.” Stiles murmured. “But I want you to wait until after dinner. Okay?”

“Okay.” Allison agreed. 

Lydia walked over with a stack of plates. The top plate had a stack of cards with names printed on each one. Silently, the three of them arranged plates in front of the ten seats. 

Stiles walked away to get silverware, returning as the two women were studying the table. “Put Gerard at one end, where he can’t stab anyone in the ribs. We’ll have your dad there, and Parrish across from him. Then Laura beside Parrish, Derek on her other side. Uh, my dad beside Chris, me beside my dad, you on my other side.” He gestured to Allison. “And Lydia and Scott in the other two seats. No, wait.”

Lydia shook her head. “Now you see the problem?”

Stiles smiled. “Scott and Laura at either end. Lydia by Scott. Parrish and Derek on Laura’s sides. You and I can sit here.” He told Allison. 

“That leaves Chris, Gerard and John.” Lydia looked up at Stiles. 

“Chris by Scott and my dad by Derek. Gerard between them. If he stabs my dad, though? I’ll kill him.” Stiles muttered. 

“Same thing, but for mine.” Allison nodded. 

Their dinner guests started arriving after that, bringing everything from appetizers to dessert. Stiles set a pitcher of beer on the table and took his seat beside Allison. 

“I want to thank all of you for sharing this meal with us.” Stiles began, smiling. “Normally, Sunday night dinners are at the Stilinski house, catching up on baseball games. But tonight is special because it’s the last night we’ll have this bar. As of midnight tonight, Laura and Derek are taking it off Allison’s hands. I guess we can consider this a fond farewell.”

“Over my dead body!” Gerard snapped, getting to his feet. “I’m not letting you give away everything I’ve built to a couple of flea-bitten mongrels!”

“I’m sorry, flea-bitten mongrels?” John repeated. 

“Sheriff, forgive me.” Gerard didn’t take his eyes off of the Hales. “But these children are monsters.”

“What do you mean, everything you’ve built?” Chris asked. “This business was mine, and then Allison’s. You had no hand in it.”

“I suppose I misspoke.” Gerard murmured. “Mutterings of an old man.”

“Great!” Allison beamed, though she was squeezing Stiles’ hand under the table. “In light of Kate’s death, I just don’t feel I can run this bar, and Dad wants to retire. After what you and Kate did to the Hales, I decided to just give them this location. Obviously, you still have it out for them. You can’t be arrested for hating someone, but if anything happens to either of them or the bar, you’re the first suspect on the list.”

“After you killed your own aunt? You should be the one that Sheriff Stilinski here sends off to prison. Oh, but that would leave his son heartbroken.” Gerard smiled. “My dear, you weren’t the only one watching that exchange.”

“No, that’s true. Mostly.” John smiled. “Isaac Lahey overheard you outlining a plan to set Allison up to murder her aunt, while you were in the parking lot on Sunday night.”

“The hell he did, I never discussed any such thing!” Gerard retorted. 

“No, but you implied that you had a hand in money laundering, and you admitted to being aware of a crime and not coming forward. That makes you an accomplice.” Stiles smirked. “And you can definitely be arrested for that.”

“I assume you’ll also be arresting my granddaughter, then?” Gerard demanded as Parrish handcuffed him. 

“Actually, because of Allison’s assistance with helping law enforcement around the world solve about four decades’ worth of cold cases, she’s been exonerated.” Parrish smiled at Allison. “We were waiting until we apprehended you before we told her.”

**

Giving the bar to the Hales had been a ruse to annoy Gerard into talking, and Stiles had made sure the Hales were aware of it beforehand. Any surprise on their faces would have ruined the effect. After Gerard was taken away, Stiles had encouraged everyone to eat their dinner. He cleared the dishes away afterward, and Scott followed him into the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help?” Scott smiled at Stiles as the bartender filled the sink with soapy water. 

“Actually, I’m good. Uh, the other day, when I said I didn’t want to talk about what you did to me? That didn’t mean we were okay and that I was over it. It was still a shitty thing to do.” Stiles turned the water off and turned toward Scott. “If you think tonight means we can pretend that eleven years and your way-too-casual use of my worst fear against me never happened, you should probably seek therapy. I won’t try to talk Lydia out of following through on the deal she made with you, to be part of your pack, even though _that_ never should have happened. If she changes her mind, you let her out, no questions asked. You’re a pack, you’re not a gang. No pack business is allowed to be conducted here, by the way. That means if one or two of you come in, that’s fine. Not the whole pack.” 

Scott blinked a few times, surprised. He cleared his throat. “Okay.” He said finally. “I guess I did think that we did pretty well with that plan and it would be great to have you around.” 

“I’m not interested.” Stiles said firmly. “Have a good night, Scott.” 

Scott stood there for a few more seconds, then sighed. “Right. Have a good night, Stiles.” He left the kitchen. 

Allison walked over to Stiles. “I was listening in. I guess that’s sort of becoming a habit I have, now.” She remarked. “You don’t have any loyalty to me. At least, not so much that you can’t be friends with Scott now, if you want to do that. Scott didn’t do anything to me, anyway, I mean. I don’t have a problem with him.” 

“I do.” Stiles lifted his hands out of the water and dried them off. “I wasn’t just making up reasons not to be around him. Honestly, I’m furious and I would have probably punched him in the face if I thought it would make a difference. All I really want is to get back to normal life, let some time pass, take you out on a date, and see where this is going.” 

“I don’t think so.” Allison shook her head. She smiled a few seconds later. “I want you to co-own this place with me. And our second location. Some guy told me to make Abigail Whittemore an offer on her wine bar, and I listened. Also, we’re down three staff members now.” 

“Three?” Stiles repeated. 

Allison put her arms around Stiles. “Yeah, three. One got fired, one just quit to work at his alpha’s bar, and the third one is being promoted. Mostly so that he can have the same schedule as me and spend evenings going out to dinner when we both feel like it. We’re going to have to hire more people here and make sure the second location employees are worth the trouble.” 

“I don’t have any say in this, do I?” Stiles grinned. 

“Nope.” Allison agreed. “Tomorrow morning, at nine o’clock, I expect you to meet me at Sour Grapes, so we can go over a few things.” 

“And tonight?” Stiles fought back a laugh, putting his hands on her waist. 

“Tonight, you’re still a bartender.” Allison leaned in to kiss Stiles. “Finish the dishes and go home.” She stepped back, her smile widening as she gave him a lingering look. She laughed as she turned and walked away, back to the office.


End file.
